To Catch A Sparrow
1. Devina
You came for me.
My feet hit the pavement and with each impact, I’m thrust forward. I try to stomp away her last words with every step. The wind is my enemy today pushing against me. I usually run through the streets of Boston on sunny fall mornings. The cool air chills me just enough to warrant the long sleeves that I can’t live without.
“My Curse” by Killswitch Engage is on full blast in my headphones. My music is loud, but not loud enough to drown out the echo of her last words.
It’s been two weeks since I learned the life-altering, earth-shattering news, but to tell you the truth, it’s been months that my body has been withering away.
Six years ago I survived a masked gunman and a fire on the same night. Turns out, I didn’t just get lucky. Death was coming for me and this time, she was angry.
Cancer.
Brain cancer.
The kind that kills you with no miracle elixir. Not that I would have taken one if one existed. I wouldn’t want to endure the pain that comes with that. A lot of people do. Those people have something to live for.
So here I am – running . . . from my pain, from the past, from reality. However, each run is becoming shorter and more challenging.
My mind was already a dark dangerous place. Maybe the cancer was born from my thoughts, taking up residence in my frontal lobe, a physical nugget of the hatred and self-loathing I have held close for all of these years.
I used to spend hours running for the adrenaline. Now, running is just a constant reminder of how frail I’ve become. I usually start strong, but my bones quickly tire and my muscles ache. I’m one sharp impact away from injury, but I can’t stop. Not until I find the man who killed my sister. And I certainly can’t kill anyone if I can’t keep myself in shape.
As I round the block and head back to the estate, I’m greeted by my brother’s guards who buzz me through the gate.
I make my way past my brother’s new black car in the driveway and up the stairs. I didn’t hear Declan behind me until it was too late, and I nearly backed into him.
“Are you going to be ready for dinner tonight?” There are no pleasantries; not that I expected any from him. My brother is aggressive, abrasive, and only cares about one thing: money. It would be easy to be angry with him, but he lost Scarlet just like I did. I can’t tell how genuine his concern and generosity is, but on the rare occasions that I do talk back, he reminds me that all his decisions are centered around keeping his only remaining sister alive.
Declan threw himself into saving our family business after my father and sister burned. I was like a gnat to him; aimlessly floating around, always there when he would rather move on alone. I was an inconvenience and he frequently let me know it. Maybe he did love me. But our pain was too large, devouring the new world we were forced into. He was my guardian until I turned eighteen but continued to care for me after. Maybe he hated me as much as I hated myself for being the one who made it out.
“Yes, I’m just heading up to get ready.” I fake my best smile and turn to leave.
Tonight was the family’s monthly dinner. The family consisted of the important members of Declan’s company, and by company, I mean, an enterprise that is criminal in nature. Don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of legitimate businesses that helped him build our wealth, but I wasn’t completely naive to believe our name wasn’t rooted in something more sinister.
My participation was in presence only. I was not to speak unless spoken to and I’m almost certain that I was only there to be ogled and keep the gents from becoming too drunk and unruly. They may be utter brutes, but they would remain gentlemen in front of Declan Sullivan’s baby sister.
Stepping out of the shower, I gaze at myself in the mirror. My scars have faded to pink and white. Subtle against my pale skin, but still very apparent. When I stare at them long enough, I can still feel the fire melting my skin away. The heat I endured was one I almost welcomed some days when the memory of everything that was taken from me became too much to bear.
Tonight, I’ll wear my emerald dress with long sleeves to cover the burn marks that crept up my left arm. The color matched my eyes and enhanced the copper in my hair, distracting others from everything I wanted to keep hidden. I shouldn’t care what I look like. I should wear my scars like a badge of honor – I survived. But the simple thought that I survived is always quickly followed by the reminder that she didn’t.
I hate how I look beneath my sleeves, but I hate myself more. The person I am beneath the scars is broken and jagged. Anyone who dares get too close will get cut. I should have died with Scarlet. Most days, the only thought that keeps me going is the sheer determination to kill a man. The invisible man. The man who took it all from me as if it were just another Tuesday. When I imagine his eyes turning lifeless beneath me, the warmth I feel in my scars transfers to my hands as I imagine his blood running over my fingers until it turns cold.
It’s almost cruel that the day I learned of my condition, I learned about my newest suspect. I don’t have his real name yet, but my best friend, Taylor, narrowed it down to someone in the Italian family. I should have known. To say there is bad blood between the Irish and Italian families would be an understatement.
After the fire, there was a brief time when Declan seemed to find happiness in a woman, but her abrupt departure sealed his heart away for good. She was Italian. While he would never share specifics with me, I knew she was the reason no one is to associate with them. I am caged and sheltered from a lot of truth, but I’m certain the Italians had something to do with my brother’s downward spiral, and for that, I hated them even more.
I was given no real expiration date, but the doctor assured me I have another year before my body shuts down and my brain becomes a pile of mush.
One year.
That seems like adequate time to get your affairs in order, but when one of your life goals is tracking down and killing an invisible man, it now feels like the ultimate challenge – and I hate to lose. I certainly can’t lose before the last grain of sand falls through the hourglass.
With my hair in place and my dress zipped tight, I step into my most comfortable heels and make my way to the dining room.
Declan’s men have started to flow in. The twelve-person dining table is full of mostly familiar faces, minus the two seats to my right.
“We have two guests joining us momentarily,” Declan states to the group as if he were reading my mind, “The Totaro family is sending two representatives.”
The crowd snickers. I know I’ve heard this name before, but I can’t seem to pinpoint where.
“Behave,” he commands, as he adjusts the cuff links of his crisp blue button down, “There are only a few terms that need to be negotiated, but once this is complete, we’ll have a sturdier grasp on the individuals who thought it was a good idea to slither into our territory and more men to help us take care of it.”
A knock at the door turns everyone’s eyes and I brace myself. We never had guests at our home. This was a rule. Taylor wasn’t even allowed to visit after the fire and I’ve been friends with him for years.
Two men in suits make their way to Declan and shake his hand at the end of the table before spotting their seats next to me.
Italians.
My blood runs cold. I wonder if I could be sitting next to the man who pulled the trigger seven years ago.
“Thank you for the warm welcome. Luca and I are just as excited as you are to see this arrangement come to fruition.” The older man says as they sit.
Luca, the younger man, nods in agreement and places his napkin in his lap.
The servers pour wine, and the men begin chatting about business. A business that I’m not so privy to and not the least bit interested in.
I’ve learned that the older man’s name is Ronnie, and he certainly isn’t the man I want to kill. I can tell by his voice. By his scent. Luca is too young and shorter than the suspect I couldn’t possibly forget. The realization helps my shoulders to ease slightly. My fingers twist in my lap as I try to put thoughts of that night out of my mind until -
“Well, there is only one last item on the agenda,” Luca states, satisfied with whatever they had just come to terms with, “Who is the lucky bride?”
My eyes dart to Declan and suddenly I’m kicking myself for not having paid attention for the past hour.
“We have a few women who would be willing and eager to help this alliance happen,” he says as he waves the server over requesting a stack of papers.
Bride? He is marrying someone off for an alliance?
“Bridget is nearly twenty-five. She is a registered nurse and plays piano. Patricia is twenty-seven. She was a bit of a wildflower but could use some taming if you know what I mean.” The men chuckle at Declan’s description of my cousins.
I begin to roll my eyes but am struck in the head with a deliciously devious idea. If I can get into the Italian family, I increase my chances of finding the fucker who killed my sister. This might be the best shot I have and with my time slipping away so quickly, I’d be a fool not to take it. My mind is working overtime but it hasn’t quite made the connection with my mouth and my mouth is already moving.
“I’ll do it.” I can’t swallow the words back.
A piece of silverware clinks as it falls to a plate and everyone at the table stops talking. All eyes are on me. Declan has his glass halfway to his mouth when his brows arch in surprise and he stiffens in his chair. The air around us seems to have thickened enough to hide the steam that I’m sure is coming out of my brother’s ears.
I adjust in my seat and give the men my sweetest smile. “I will marry into the Totaro family,” I say as politely as I can, “If they will have me.” I give the Italians a little head tilt and bat my lashes. They don’t seem disappointed.
“Well, it’s nice to see someone so eager to bring our families together, Mr. Sullivan.” Luca raises his glass toward Declan.
Mumbles between the men around me grow louder as I instantly regret my decision.
Declan’s face turns as red as his hair, but I know he won’t challenge me in front of everyone. There will be consequences for my talking out of turn, but in my mind, there is no other way.
“Certainly,” he says, but I can tell he is seething beneath the surface.
The men raise their glasses to share a celebratory clink and I nearly melt into my seat. My nerves are getting the best of me, but I can hardly contain my excitement. They have no idea what they just agreed to, but I guess I don’t either.
When they stand to leave, I receive kind departing words from everyone before Declan corners me in the foyer. His fists are clenched at his sides as he looks down at me with fury.
“What the hell were you thinking, Devina?” he says through clenched teeth.
“You know that Bridget and Patricia were horrible offers. Bridget doesn’t want to be married . . . to a man, and Patricia would be a complete embarrassment.”
“Were you even listening to the conversation? Do you know who you are marrying?” he leans back on his heels crossing his arms over his chest.
“No, but does it matter? You’ve taken care of me long enough.”
This seems to resonate with him and I can see the wheels turning. He may not be happy, but he will comply. He has no choice now.
“We are getting paid a pretty penny for the Irish bride. If I knew it would be you, I would have increased the price.” I wonder if he meant for that to be said out loud, but that’s Declan; always looking at the bottom line. “Fine, I’ll allow it.” He concludes as if he could change the outcome now.
“Great.” Hesitant to show too much excitement with my twisted new plan, I nod in agreement, smile, and reach up to scratch the stubble he’s allowed to take up residence on his sharp jaw. He acts like he hates it, but it reminds him of when we were younger and I’d tease him for being such a grumpy old man. He halfheartedly hides a grin and I know I’m not truly in trouble.
I turn to make my way upstairs and let tonight’s events sink in.
***
How could I possibly fall asleep with an entire kill plan that needs to be perfected? After tossing and turning for nearly an hour I jump online to do a quick internet search.
There are four eligible brothers. I wonder which one it will be. Luca and Philippe are good candidates, although Luca didn’t let on that he was the intended groom this evening. Ryder? Logan? My brother did a great job of keeping our business off the radar, unlike the Totaro’s. They are notorious for being ruthless . . . and stunning. All four of them. Their sketchy behavior may be newsworthy, but you could just as easily find tabloids sharing their latest dining experiences and extracurricular outings with women. For a family who is rumored to be dark and twisted, they sure enjoyed the spotlight.
Based on looks alone, I should consider myself lucky to have any of them. I’m pretty enough, but they appear flawless and poised – even in candid shots.
I switch my phone off having decided that Philippe is the likeliest groom to be. He is only three years older than me. Ryder is nearly a decade older and Logan, the oldest, now lives abroad. Closing my eyes and feeling slightly at ease now, I close my eyes and let sleep take me.